


All Revved Up

by nostrix



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Coming In Pants, Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Kink, how could i forget that, there's like a wee bit of everything but idk if they deserve a tag of their own
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24867898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostrix/pseuds/nostrix
Summary: D'Artagnan gets a bit hot thinking about Porthos and goes to him to get taken care of.
Relationships: d'Artagnan/Porthos du Vallon
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	All Revved Up

**Author's Note:**

> blame this on lockdown i haven't touched another person in months i think i'd cry if i did but. listen, porthos is such a gentle bloke and he's so big you know he'd treat u right.   
> (this is probably full of mistakes but im tired so let me know if there's any glaring mistakes, i tried to keep a handle on my tense changes. i only realised 5 mins ago i was missing out the capital A in d'Artagnan? a fool, i am :))  
> title comes from a meatloaf song just bc i've been listening to it a lot recently and it kinda fit
> 
> enjoy <3

D’Artagnan had been thinking about it _all day_. 

He didn’t know what started it, only that he’d woken up that morning inexplicably aroused and yet had no time to sort himself out since he was already late for an early morning drill. 

He’d been distracted at breakfast after, when Porthos was asked to demonstrate a few hand-to-hand moves with some of the more eager recruits. D’Artagnan had spent the whole time with his gaze fixed upon him, mouth paused mid chew, picturing those same large hands gripping him, imagining how his big muscles could easily lift him up, effortlessly hold him down- 

He snapped out of it as Aramis stole the rest of his pastry from his hands with a cheeky grin, commenting something about him not eating his bread because he’s hungry for something else, and d’Artagnan turned beet red before leaving with an affronted huff to find Athos for sword practice. 

During guard duty at the palace in the afternoon, he’d once again only half been paying attention. All his senses seemed zeroed in on the tall, bulky musketeer to his right, noticing the intrinsic power he held even in his easy posture, feeling the heat radiating off his black leathers in the June sun. He pictured the way his muscles would ripple deliciously beneath his pale shirt, could practically taste the sweat seeping slightly into his collar, and it was sweet torture to be standing so close and unable to just _touch_. 

Of course, he had no illusions that Porthos was oblivious to his attentions, judging by the way he would occasionally catch his eye, or grin at the sight of his face turning rosy for no reason. At one point in the early evening, Porthos had lain his hand, big and heavy and strong, on the back of the Gascon’s neck, and it sent a full body shudder through him that was undeniable to both of them. 

So, he’d been on edge all day thinking about Porthos, and by the time night fell he was half trembling and desperate with need as he fell through the older musketeer’s doorway and into his waiting arms. 

D’Artagnan barely remembered to lock the door behind him before he found himself being quite thoroughly kissed in the middle of Porthos’ room. Big hands, strong and warm, cupped his face as soft plush lips pressed against his own, and for a moment d’Artagnan’s mind quietened in the face of such sweetness. 

They walked back to the bed together, each unwilling to let go of the other as the kisses turned more passionate, the desperation d’Artagnan had been feeling through the day coming through in his needy gasps and the grip he had on his billowing shirt sleeves. 

Porthos sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him down to straddle one of his large, muscled and leather-clad thighs. Almost immediately d’Artagnan keened at the contact and began rocking against him, legs splayed obscenely wide over strong flesh as he shamelessly searched for his own pleasure, pressing as close as he could. 

Porthos made no move to slow d’Artagnan down just yet, but he did reach up, trailing one hand across the flushed skin of his neck while the other threads through the strands of his dark hair, gripping and tugging his head back to expose his throat. 

D’Artagnan whined with need, long fingers reaching out blindly to grip at dark and muscled arms, waiting for his lover’s touch. He was rewarded with a long, slow lick across the sensitive skin of his neck that caused his hair to raise, and he couldn’t help the twitch his hips gave in response when the cool air got to the damp skin. 

Porthos chuckled quietly against his throat, continuing to press little kisses and nips against it as he slipped a broad and in the back of d’Artagnan’s breeches to palm at his ass, rubbing and pulling his hips forward to bring their crotches together. 

“Ah! _Porthos_ -” he gasped, as he felt the other man’s large cock against his through their layers of clothing. He wanted to simultaneously push back into the hand massaging his ass and to press forward and feel more contact, more evidence of Porthos’ sheer size, and simply settled for asking for “more, please...” 

He dominated the kiss – as d’Artagnan needed in that moment, he knew – pushing deeper into the wet heat, filling his senses so completely even as the younger man responded with little noises in the back of his throat, delighted and hungry for more. D’Artagnan rode his thigh helplessly in his desperate search for contact, for such closeness. He wished to be overwhelmed, to feel so encompassed by Porthos’ strength and warmth that all other feelings would melt away and be replaced by his comfort, and Porthos was perfectly big and capable enough to provide that feeling. 

D’Artagnan abruptly reaches his climax as Porthos’ calloused fingertip skimmed across his asshole, and he cried out, burying his forehead into the warmth of the other man’s neck as he spilled inside his breeches. 

“Yeah, that’s it lad,” Porthos murmured, feeling d’Artagnan’s hips twitching and muscles convulsing atop his thigh “get it out your system, there we go.” He ran a soothing hand up and down his back, keeping him pressed close against his chest for support. 

As d’Artagnan’s quiet moans tapered off, Porthos lifted his chin with a gentle finger and looked into his big brown eyes, blown wide with arousal and slightly wet around his eyelashes. 

“Alright?” he asked, brushing the pad of his thumb softly against his cheek. 

D’Artagnan leaned his face into the touch with a slight smile, and then shifted his hips back to press firmly against Porthos’ hand still fondling his behind. 

“I need... Porthos, please, I need more,” he began, locking eyes pleadingly with the bigger man, "I need you inside me."

“Okay,” Porthos said, withdrawing his hands to d’Artagnan’s hips and placing a gentle kiss to his lips, “don’t worry, I know what you need.” 

And then he lifted the boy from his lap, deposited him on the bed, and instructed him to start taking off his boots. It was the work of a moment for Porthos to divest himself of his clothing, having already got rid of his boots and jacket before his guest arrived. 

He turned to d’Artagnan and knelt to help him peel off his breeches and smalls, and smirked good-naturedly at the hiss the boy let out when his come-damp cock hit the cool air. 

When the boy was naked save for his shirt, Porthos ran out of patience and manhandled him onto the bed, laying him down on his front and climbing up behind him. D’Artagnan moaned at being so easily tossed around, and brought his knees up under him to present himself better, fully trusting of Porthos and eager to take whatever he was given. 

D’Artagnan clutched at the pillow beneath his face, seeing Porthos dip his fingers into a pot from the corner of his eyes, and let out a surprised yet pleased gasp when one big hand spread his cheek to the side and a slick finger was suddenly shoved into him. 

He was soft and relaxed from his earlier release, and though the intrusion was sudden it was not unfamiliar, and d’Artagnan soon relaxed around the exploring digit. 

Porthos thrusted in and back out a couple of times, pulling at the rim and spreading about the oil, before slipping in a second thick finger. D’Artagnan let out a needy sound and tried to rock back, to take them deeper, but Porthos had his other hand on his hip and stopped any movement easily. 

“Oh, you really need this, don’t you?” he murmured, noting the slight trembles in the Gascon’s frame, the strong reaction to every touch he gave him. D’Artagnan just whined in response, pushing back into his hand and enjoying the smoothness of his palm on his skin. 

Porthos fingered him until he was satisfied that he could take him, more focussed on stretching him in preparation than providing much pleasure – he doubted d’Artagnan would last too long once he had a cock in him. 

Withdrawing his hand and slicking himself up, Porthos wasted no more time before pushing the head into the waiting boy beneath him. 

D’Artagnan let out a breathy moan, feeling the stretch as he was slowly entered, and pressed his face further into the pillow. He felt a warm hand run up his spine and back down his side, coaxing him to relax more. Porthos pressed further in, slow and unrelenting, and d’Artagnan could do nothing but take it, pinned in place as he was by a strong but gentle grip that encompassed his hips. 

It seemed an age to him before Porthos was buried fully inside, and as he felt the weight of him settle pressed against his ass and thighs, d’Artagnan felt he could breathe again. 

“That’s better, isn’t it,” Porthos commented, noticing how the tightness in the boy’s shoulders seemed to fade as he sank his cock inside him. “You just needed to be full didn’t you?” 

D’Artagnan whimpered his assent, squirming in his grasp and clenching down on his length as if to take him in deeper. Porthos just hushed him and leant down to press a kiss to the back of his neck. 

“ _Porthos_ -” d’Artagnan started, his voice rough with desperation and slightly muffled in the bedding, still wriggling and waiting for him to move. 

“I know, I know, shh,” he soothed, leaning back again. “You just be a good boy and take what I give you, hmm?” 

All of d’Artagnan’s remaining senses left him as Porthos instantly started up a fast rhythm, fucking his cock deeply into him and using his hips to drag him forward and back. The fingertips that dug into his flesh would bruise come morning, d’Artagnan hoped. 

Each time Porthos pushed into him, d’Artagnan let out little breathless sobs of delight, and Porthos could tell how worked up he was becoming. He kept up his hard pace, fucking ruthlessly in and out to drive each delicious sound from him. 

It wasn’t long before d’Artagnan’s moans became louder and more desperate, and Porthos barely had to work to coax him to completion with a steady hand. Porthos groaned as the muscles around his length clenched, and he slowed down slightly to allow the Gascon to feel every slide in his sensitive, twitching hole. 

He thrust twice, long and leisurely, relishing the little gasps of shock and pleasure they drew from the boy, and waited until he started begging with barely comprehensible words to _please keep going_. 

So he acquiesced, leaning down to press his weight more solidly on d’Artagnan, and took his pleasure selfishly from his willing and open body. 

D’Artagnan practically sobbed in time, over-stimulated and wrecked from Porthos’ thorough loving, as he took him again and again until he finally reached his peak. 

Porthos gave a grunt as he shoved deep inside and stayed, spending with circular grinding motion into d’Artagnan and splaying his hands across his hips and belly to hold him still closely. 

As he felt warmth flood his insides, d’Artagnan sighed in contentment. He rocked back just to feel the press of his partner’s hips against his own, and savoured the residual twitches Porthos’ cock gave as it finished spilling. He delighted in the feeling of being both encompassed and filled deeply, and went easily limp as Porthos rolled them to the side together for a moment of reprieve. 

For a few moments there was peace, with both men catching their breath and basking in the warmth of each other. When Porthos made to pull away, gently starting to slide out of d’Artagnan, he was stopped by a hand on his thigh. 

“Stay,” d’Artagnan pleaded quietly, turning to look imploringly at the older musketeer with his big, brown eyes. 

Porthos smiled, warm and kind as ever, and said “okay, pup, I’m right here,” before laying back down behind him. He readjusted so their hips were aligned once more, cock still nestled snugly in place within the lean young body beside him, and circled a thick arm around his waist securely. 

D’Artagnan fell happily asleep, sated and filled, and knew he was safe in his embrace.


End file.
